Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(108)

—did you know it takes up an entire city block? Dr. Holmes is quite the businessman. Smart, too. He began construction on it right before they announced the World’s Fair would be held here. He’d already predicted it would be a lovely, safe home for the young women who came here to work. Isn’t that kind of him?”

I bit down on my immediate response to his kindness. This monster had grown tired of stalking women in the street. His new game was luring them into what they believed was a sanctuary, and then he unleashed his bloodiest desires.

After we crested the top of the staircase, I ran my hand against the wall of the long corridor, the other tightened on my cane, reassuring in its presence. Sconces were placed at uneven intervals, deepening that sense of unsteadiness that followed me up the stairs. It almost gave one the feeling of having had too much champagne.

Sweat beaded along my brow. I didn’t feel right. Vaguely, I heard the quiet hissing of snakes. I squinted toward the sconces; they’d been fashioned after cobras. The bulbs bulged where their bodies coiled, their fangs exposed. It was creepy décor, fitting enough for a murderer.

Despite using my cane for support, I stumbled forward. The young woman caught me before I hit the ground, her brow crinkled. “You don’t look well, Miss Wadsworth. Let’s get you to bed to rest for a bit.”

I dragged in a laborious breath, my chest burning.

“Why aren’t you…” My lids drooped, my mind going sluggish. I staggered

against her. My vision blurred and panic set in, chittering and clicking along my spine. Drowsy, I slid my focus back to the hissing serpents. If I squinted, I could just make out faint traces of mist. Oh, no. I’d not planned on being exposed to an airborne contagion. My father’s worries came flooding back. “But I didn’t eat or drink anything here.”

I thought I’d been prepared for this confrontation, but he had created rules I’d never dreamed up before; Poison in the air. I stopped moving. I needed to get back to the stairs. My mind spun so quickly I had to put my head between my knees to keep from vomiting.

“Agatha, I… I don’t feel well.”

“Oh!” Agatha clutched my arm, keeping me from tumbling down into darkness and back down the stairs. “The fumes from the cleanser might not agree with you. Dr. Holmes is still perfecting the formula.” She pointed to her nose. “Cotton. I almost forgot.” She tied a scarf about her face. “Not everyone has a reaction to it, but I’m pretty sensitive to most strong scents. That’s why Dr.

Holmes makes me remember the cotton. I won’t be helpful to him if I get ill.”

I staggered a few steps farther, knees shaking. This was no cleanser. At least none that I’d ever encountered. “Why doesn’t he give them to his patrons?”

“He doesn’t run a charity, miss. If he handed out cotton to everyone who rented a room here, he’d be out of money. Plus, this doesn’t happen with everyone. He said he only cleans the corridors like this once in a while. Today seems to be one of those rare occasions.”

She left me and swiftly moved forward, pausing at the end of the corridor, opening doors that I swore were bricked up. I fell against the wall, fighting the darkness creeping into the corners of my vision. I needed to get out of this place.

Immediately. My sense of self-preservation screeched wildly to hurry, but whatever he was poisoning me with worked fast.

With a final shove, I stumbled a few feet back toward the stairs, head spinning as a giant portrait loomed before me. It seemed as if the eyes followed me as I collapsed to the floor, trying desperately to crawl back the way we’d come. I heard the bones in my knees crack, the pain blinding in its fury. Two hands lifted me up.

“Now, now, Miss Wadsworth,” a cool voice said. “Stop fighting me.”

I feebly thought of my blade sheathed at my thigh. It was utterly useless to me now. All my preparations, my certainty. Gone.

“It’s time you met your true match.”

His voice was the last thing that tormented me before I plunged into

blackness.





FORTY-SIX

CAPTIVITY: NIGHT ONE

MURDER CASTLE

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS





16 FEBRUARY 1889


My throat felt like hot coals had been shoved down it. My eyes leaked tears as if in mourning.

It was as though my body understood before I did.

The devil had come to claim me.

And I would soon die.

A hissing from somewhere above stole into the room, robbing me of consciousness.

Sleep, deep and endless. A blessing hidden inside the curse.





FORTY-SEVEN

CAPTIVITY: NIGHT TWO

MURDER CASTLE

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS





17 FEBRUARY 1889


Darkness greeted me as I cracked my lids. Oppressive like summer heat. I stirred, desperate to rouse from unnatural sleep. For a moment, I couldn’t recall where I was. Then fragments of memory came back. Before I sat up, I heard the creaking of a door. A slice of yellow light spilled like entrails across the floor. I squeezed my eyes shut.

Counted my breaths.

This was a nightmare. Like the ones that had haunted me these past months.

A trick of the mind. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

I opened my eyes, only to scream.